The Great West Detective Agency by Jackson Lowry Read Free Book Online Page A

information, that presentation to what amounted to Western royalty would be in jeopardy. Whatever sparked Little Otto to mention Conklin had some element of logic, if not truth, to it. But what?
    Lucas sipped at the brandy and let it burn his tongue and throat before puddling warmly in his belly. He had drunk worse. The barkeep cut it with only a little nitric acid for kick and actually added a fresh peach for flavor and color. As he lifted the glass for another sip, Lucas froze. He put the glass down and turned.
    Conklin had disappeared.
    The gambler hadn’t passed through the front door. Lucas found the back. The door stood partially open to let in a small breeze. He ran to the door and pushed it open with the toe of his boot. At the end of the alley, just off Colfax, two men poked at Conklin, pushing him back into a wall.
    Conklin protested loudly, but Lucas couldn’t hear any part of the argument, which ended abruptly with a gasp. Conklin bent over and grabbed his belly as one attacker drew back a bloody knife.
    Lucas considered what to do. Talking his way out of being a witness to murder seemed unlikely when the second man nudged the first. They had seen him. He carried his Colt New Line, but both of them had six-shooters slung at their sides. In terms of firepower, they had him dead to rights.
    â€œI say, where’s the outhouse? The barkeep said it was back here, but I think he only wanted to get rid of me.”
    The men arrayed themselves on either side to cut off his escape in the alley. If he ducked back into the Merry Widow, he had a chance. Lucas tugged on the door, but it was stuck.
    â€œYou with him?” The one without the knife in his hand jerked a thumb over his shoulder in Conklin’s direction. The man lay in a heap, not moving.
    â€œI only want the dog back,” Lucas said, thinking to shock the men. He wanted a reaction to see if Conklin had run afoul of disgruntled losers or had found even more desperate men in the dog napping.
    Lucas expected a reaction. He got it. The one with the knife lunged. Lucas twisted sideways like a Spanish bullfighter and let the blade slide past. In this position his punch to the man’s cheek held little power, but it was enough to stagger him. Lucas had won a bet once going six rounds bareknuckle with a touring bruiser named John L. Sullivan.
    He drew back and shot a second jab that took the man too high on the head. He had wanted to strike him in the temple for a possibly killing blow. Being off balance robbed this punch of real potential, and then he grappled with the second man, who caught him up in a bear hug and slammed him back against the door hard enough to rattle his teeth.
    Using the impact, he snapped his head forward. His forehead smashed into the other man’s head. The arms weakened. Lucas kicked out and caught the man in the knee. A second kick drove hard into his groin.
    By this time the first man was recovering his senses. His eyes showed he was still groggy. Lucas feinted right, then drove a left hook into the man’s ribs.
    As he sat down heavily, the man grated out, “Gonna kill you if you don’t back away. The dog’s not for the like of you!”
    Lucas hopped over the downed man, then hesitated. He needed to find out where Tovarich had been taken. More to satisfy his curiosity, he wanted to know why a puppy brought out a pair of killers. Finding who they worked for solved Amanda’s problem and earned him more money.
    Before he could kick the knife out of the man’s hand or draw his own pistol, though threatening these two could backfire, he looked up. Not only didn’t they look like the type to pony up information at the mere threat of being shot, but they were being joined by three more men intent on dragging out their pistols.
    Lucas left them, ducked into a store, and waited for them to give up chasing him. Only then did he retrace his route to the laundry to get his cleaned coat. Little Otto